


Forgiveness

by ChloeWinchester



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss, Gun Violence, M/M, Post 3.16
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-12
Updated: 2017-05-12
Packaged: 2018-10-30 22:24:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10886145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChloeWinchester/pseuds/ChloeWinchester
Summary: No one gets to torture and kill Edward Nygma but the Penguin. At least, that's what Oswald tells himself after rescuing him from the Court.





	Forgiveness

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Johniarty](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Johniarty/gifts).



Oswald stepped back into Ivy’s home, eyes hard and staring straight ahead while he ripped off his gloves and ignored the tension that had been building for some time. Since he’d plucked Ed from the Court, really, and left without gaining any information -from Ed or otherwise- and hadn’t said a word since.   
He hadn’t gotten his hands as dirty as he’d anticipated, as Bridget and Freis were more than capable of doing that themselves and quite gleeful in the act of freezing/burning the little owlets while he frantically-- No, angrily searched for Ed.   
“...So we’re saving the guy that shot you?” Ivy had frowned, watching him pace in her greenhouse. She’d managed not to giggle at the flustered waddle he was doing, and was quite proud of herself for it, though it did take most of her concentration.  
“Yes!” He snapped. “I thought I made that quite clear!”   
“But he tried to kill you.” She said. He turned and glared at her, one hand on his hip.   
“No, hear me out. He shot you and let you fall in the ocean; why bother with him?” She had an inkling as to his motivations, but she wanted to hear him say it and squish it out of him rather than blurt it out. It was more fun that way.   
“Because! Because I--” He pinched the bridge of his nose, regaining some semblance of control over himself. “No one gets to torture and murder Edward Nygma except me! I’ve earned that right, not whatever this court thing is. Now shut up and get the other two ready!”   
“...We can hear you!”   
Now that little adventure was through. The Court had been raided, their manpower greatly diminished, and Ed was saved.   
He tried to pretend he didn’t care about the state he was in when he found him, that it didn’t make his heart sink violently watching those people put that machinery on his head and flood him with electricity. Not to cure, to hurt. To force him to talk. There was evidence of more trauma, bruising, drugging, methods he recognized from Arkham and Indian Hill, and once again he was forced to tell himself that his rage and nausea was from seeing the man who’d tried to kill him, and not because he was still unquestionably, hopelessly in--   
The sound of furniture scraping over hardwood snapped him out of the reverie and he whipped around. Ed had staggered into an endtable after a fatigue-fueled stumble and dragged it away from the sofa.   
“Sorry,” he muttered, shaking as he stood up straight. Neither of them would look at each other, not even for a second, since all of this transpired. The car ride was silent, save for Ed coughing a few times and Oswald commenting on the traffic snippily. It made things all the more awkward to carry on that way now. The other three exchanged glances. Ivy motioned at Bridget, and then at the door. She nodded nudged Freis.   
“We’re...gonna go, er, wash off all this blood, right?” She didn’t wait for the doctor to answer, she simply grabbed his arm and hauled him out with her to avoid anymore tension.   
“So…” Ivy began, leaning on the wall beside the window he was staring out of. “You two should be alone, yeah?”   
“That’s unwise,” he said immediately. “Don’t you think? To leave me here with, with him and there’s sharp objects around. You should stay here just in case I--”   
She silenced him by pinching his lips shut and he squawked quietly in surprise.“Talk to him.” He smacked her hand away, straightening his coat.   
“Fine!” He hissed. She pushed off the wall and sauntered out before Oswald could stop her, shutting the door behind her.   
For the first time since the lab, they looked at each other. Their eyes met and Os instinctively placed a hand on his stomach where the bullet went through. He half expected it to bloom with fresh blood again, for everything to go back to the pier where he killed him and this was all some last minute, hopeful dream.  
Hopeful as their interactions could be, of course, with Ed hurt like this.   
Ed followed the motion and let his gaze continue downward toward the floor, ashamed of himself. He swayed a little. Os turned away and started rifling around to make himself a drink.   
“You should sit down,” he said coldly. “Else you fall and scrape up Ivy’s floors some more.”   
“I don’t want to,” he said simply, quiet.   
“Oh? You look ready to fall over. Is giving yourself a concussion an answer to a riddle someone didn’t solve, or…?” He snorted.   
Edward almost smiled. It was nice to hear his voice again, regardless. “No, because my hallucinations have hurt me before and I’m waiting for you to do the same before I wake up at the court again,” he said simply.   
Os stopped, frowning, and turned to look at him.   
Nygma, the Riddler, and all his chaotic theatrics were gone. The white uniform was loose on him, causing him to appear far too small despite his height.   
He looked hurt and afraid, scorch marks on his temples and his fingertips. Bruises crept from under his clothes, some old, some new. He flinched at every sound, never keeping his eyes on just one spot for too long. He looked as if he expected the walls to lash out at him and tear him into pieces, or maybe something horrifying would crash through the windows at any given moment.   
Ed was scared, and despite himself, Oswald wanted to make it better. Damn him. “Ed, you’re not hallucinating,” he said, attempting to keep iron in his voice and not let it soften. “I told you that at the lab.”   
After he’d fiddled around enough to turn the machine off and use the energy against the people hurting him, Oswald beat the two to death with his cane right beside the trembling Mr. Nygma.  
“All the trouble I go through for you!” He’d burst, chest heaving, wiping the blood away with a nearby rag. “And I don’t even get a thank you?”   
Ed blinked at him, head throbbing, glasses on the table beside him, along with the instruments used to hurt him.“This again…” He mumbled, looking away. “Are you going to start singing? Because my head hurts very badly and unless it’s something more soothing than your last performance I really don’t want to hear it.”  
Oswald blinked. Did he just make a joke? No, Ed didn’t do that very often but that sounded absolutely absurd, didn’t it? “What the hell are you talking about?”   
“You’re not real and you can’t really help me so just...just go away. They’ll be back soon enough and start in again. Please.” He looked so defeated, wilted and broken, not at all how he’d been before he shot him.   
He flexed his jaw and snapped the glasses from the table and shoved them on Ed’s face. “Look, real. I’m real, Ed.”  
He shook his head. “Just trying to make me feel better… I don’t know what else you want from me.”   
Os swallowed, unsure what to do. Ed was imagining him in his absence. Conjuring him up with that brilliant mind of his for some solace, or perhaps to grieve. Perhaps even guilt fueled the imaginings that resulted in the fragile man before him. It made his chest ache and he cursed him for it again.   
“I’m very real,” he said, pursing his lips and undoing the rough straps pinning him down. “And you’re going to pay for what you did to me. But on my terms, not this place. Now shut up and come on.”   
Ed shifted and sniffed, bringing Oswald back to himself. Ed let out a shaky breath, hugging himself and pushing his glasses up his nose. “I can’t tell what’s real or not anymore. It’s just been getting worse since I…” He glanced at him and Oswald stiffened. Edward reached in his coat, and had Oswald not personally checked each and every pocket before giving it to him he might’ve drawn his own weapon before history could repeat itself.   
Ed withdrew a worn piece of paper that had been folded and opened dozens of times, the corners worn down a great deal and the ink was starting to chip off. He carefully opened it and offered it to him. “I don’t deserve this,” he said softly. “Thank you for giving it to me, but...but I shouldn’t have it. It’s a lie.”   
He frowned and reached for it, cautious, taking it from his shaking hands.   
The certificate declaring him sane.   
“You kept this with you?” He asked, not taking his eyes from it. “Why?”   
“Proof, I thought. Proof I was...I was right to think how I was thinking. That I saw things that weren’t there but that was okay. At least I had that. No matter what I was sane. After thinking all this up, though...how could I be?”   
Oswald huffed out a sigh and smacked the paper on the nearest table. “You’re not imagining this! This is real, I am real! Despite your best efforts I’m still fucking alive! You have a wonderful mind, Ed, but you can’t think up me and my band of freaks coming to get you like that! You can’t! I’m very fucking real and very, very angry with you!” He shoved him, tears brewing in his eyes. “You fucking asshole, you shot me! I gave you everything and you killed me!”   
Ed rocked a little, catching himself on the arm of the couch, eyes widening. “I--”   
“I loved you and you killed me!” He sobbed, slapping him hard enough to knock his glasses off. Again, Edward rocked with the blow but he straightened up. Os could touch him, and the pain was real too. He could feel him. Oh god, he was real.   
“Oswald, I-I made a mistake,” he gushed, also trying to hold himself together. “I-I went to talk to you every day, I couldn’t live with what I did, I--” The smaller man struck out at him again but Edward caught his wrist, his own breaths trembling.   
“Fuck you!” He grunted, slamming hands into his chest now and slowly crumpling. “Fuck you! You shot me! You tortured me, you shot me, you didn’t want me!”   
“Y-you killed Isabella,” he said softly. Isabella who was engineered, not born. Isabella who was created as the perfect doll for him to break. An experiment, a mouse with a button to push instead of focusing on other things. The Court was waiting for him to kill her anyway… His lips shook, looking at Oswald. “I n-never said I didn’t want you.”   
He looked confused, Ed holding his arms and looking at him like that… Maybe he was the one imagining things. “You said it with a fucking bullet,” he spat wetly, tears streaking his face. He hated how easily he cried when his heart was involved.   
“It was a mistake.”   
“I should kill you for what you did!” He said harshly, struggling to speak past the lump in his throat. “I should kill you for making me love you still!”   
“I’m sorry. Oswald, I’m sorry.” He spoke sincerely, eyes brimming with guilt and pain and Os couldn’t do it anymore. He leaned up on his toes and hugged him as hard as he could.   
Ed froze briefly, dazed, eyes closed to just...feel. The tears in his lashes were cold on his neck, the warmth of Oswald’s face and the gentle smell of his skin familiar. Slowly, he wrapped his arms around him, encasing Os against his body to be doubly sure he was real. He was here, right here… “I thought I lost you,” he choked out, fingertips brushing against his hair. “A-and nothing made sense without you, nothing. You were right. You...you were right about me.”   
Oswald hicupped, supporting Edward despite being held. “I-I told you,” he sniffled. “I’m always right.”   
“I need you,” he admitted, looking at him steadily when he blinked up at him, surprised and unsure.   
“You...you don’t, though, you don’t need…”   
“Look what happened, Oswald. I may be your compass, but you’re my map. We don’t work without each other. We...we complete each other. I figured out the answer to your puzzle, Oswald.”  
“Puzzle, what puzzle?” He asked, shaking his head and trying to keep up with all this.  
“You. You’re a puzzle, how...how I feel about you, about what I’m supposed to be, what you’re supposed to be but...but I got it now. It’s not about me or you it...it’s about us. It’s us.”  
“Ed,” he said shakily, easing his glasses back on his face. “What...what are you saying? Please, I… I can’t take it again just. Just tell me.”   
“Forgive me.” He gently caught Oswald’s lips in his own, a chaste, gentle kiss he’d been denying himself for longer than he’d anticipated. He cupped his throat, wincing when Os tensed in fear and grabbed his wrist. But it wasn’t resistance, it was assurance.   
Oswald melted into the kiss, gripping Ed’s shirt in his free hand and fumbling for more purchase. His lips were better than he ever dreamed, rougher than he’d imagined but passionate. Passionate, caring and...surrendering. Ed’s knees buckled and their kiss broke for just a moment while Oswald recovered his footing and got them to the sofa where they fell.   
Ed wasted no time grabbing for him again, lightly ghosting the pad of his thumb along his freckles before he kissed him once more. Oswald was so soft, so warm. His cheeks heated so fast and he was so...desperate. Desperate to hold onto him, onto this. To cherish every second and pour all of his love into this precious kiss. It was overwhelming.   
“I’m sorry,” he blurted again, really crying now. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Oswald.”   
“I forgive you,” he gushed, the backs of his fingers gliding delicately over the burns on his head. “I forgive you just, just please don’t do that again. I…” He swallowed. “I’m sorry I killed Isabelle...a. Isabella. I am. I’m sorry I hurt you instead of just… I could’ve told you what was wrong…”   
“I forgive you,” he blurted, kissing him yet again, starved for affection, for kindness, for Oswald, who looked at him like Edward painted the sunsets in the sky each evening. How could he miss that before?  
Ivy smiled to herself outside the door and did a little dance. Talking always helped. And now maybe Os would be nicer without all that nasty heartache to go with his prickly personality.


End file.
